


Passenger 99

by Dumb_thotticus



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 1980s, 80s! Holt, Gen, Pre-Canon, Terrorism, Violence, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumb_thotticus/pseuds/Dumb_thotticus
Summary: A seemingly innocuous case of Holt's takes a distinctly.... action movie turn.
Kudos: 4





	Passenger 99

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an (at present, unreleased) chapter of my much larger work Friend-Enemy. This work stands on its own, but if you would like to check that work out it would be much appreciated!

“Detective Holt! I have the perfect case for you!”

Captain Brandt sat himself where Seargent Wuntch would normally be, his weight causing the chair to groan. He put his elbows on the desk, forcing himself forwards so much that he was practically in Raymond’s face. Brandt dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper

“Just to double-check, you don’t have a bird, right? Any kids?”

“I do not. Why is that relevant?”

“Just checking. You’re gonna be a hero if this pulls through!” Raymond bent over to pick up the pages that had slid out, vaguely registering something about a plane. He read on, intrigued.

“Captain, is this case about…”

“The Payne train? You bet it is!”

Albert Payne was a name that every policeman in America had familiarised themselves with. International terrorist and crime boss, the media had dubbed his trail of destruction ‘The Payne Train’. He had recently been caught by the FBI and was being deported to New York to stand trial. This was common knowledge, having been incessantly mentioned on every news channel this side of the Atlantic. And for some unknown reason, captain Brandt wanted him to accompany him. 

“Captain, this looks like a difficult, high profile case. Are you sure that I am the right detective to lead it?”

“You’re the best detective we have, course you are!”

That was true. Mostly. 

“But what about Seargent Wuntch? She was in charge of the Faulton Street murders, has one of the highest arrest and clearance rates in the whole of Brooklyn- “

“You don’t _get_ it. Someone like your girlfriend won’t be taken seriously by the big guys. We need our own big guy, tough-sounding. Girlie will probably freak out before the plane even takes off.” Brandt laughed sycophantically. 

Every single part of that statement made Raymond’s blood boil. He looked at the files in lieu of a proper response, trying not to shout about the injustice of it all. Saving his indignation for later, he composed himself enough to formulate a response. 

“I will consider the case and get back to you shortly.”

“Excellent!” And with that, Brandt strolled off, trying and failing to smoothly deposit the remaining case files onto Raymond’s desk.

Albert Joseph Payne, forty-eight years old, indicted on over six hundred counts of arms smuggling, embezzlement, sex trafficking, and countless other nefarious deeds. He was a difficult piece of work for sure. Even if the US legal systems’ obsession with bureaucracy were to cease for a second, the upcoming trial would still be drawn out and laborious. That is, if Payne even reached the courthouse. The FBI suspected that he was not going to go down without a fight. That was, in fact, the purpose of Raymond’s presence: to be on the plane and stop anything bad from happening. He would be accompanied by two FBI agents. Looking at their names, Raymond felt a pang of recognition. One of them was Bob Andersonn. 

Around twenty years his senior, Andersonn was one of the most respected agents in the FBI. Raymond had accompanied him on a stakeout a few years back. They had some good times: and by good times, he of course meant a mutual agreement to sit in silence and watch the world go by. And by the world, he of course meant a known serial killer who had foolishly believed that swimming around in a pool granted him some sort of protection. The Freestyle Killer was going to be behind bars for many years, and he was rather hoping the same would happen to their friend Mr Payne. In less than forty-eight hours, it would.

Assuming all went to plan.

After all, there was no reason to suspect otherwise.

Was there?

* * *

“Raymond, I am glad that we were partnered for this mission.”

Him and Andersonn were sitting in a police car on an exposed airfield in California. The sun was beating down mercilessly, and the lack of anything other than miles and miles of tarmac made seeking shelter impossible, the rising temperature inside the car making it feel as though they were in a sauna. The open windows were tempting in a breeze that seemed non-existent, the water Andersonn had given Raymond completely ineffective at cooling him down. They had even gone as far as to open up the sun roof, as even direct sunlight could not be worse than their metal prison. Desperate to distract himself from the sweat seeping into his shirt, Raymond looked at the most recent update for what felt like the hundredth time.

So far Payne’s journey had been uneventful, allowing himself to be taken from Ecuador without incident. This part of the journey was to be a little more difficult. In order to prevent Payne’s men knowing which plane their boss would be going on, a commercial flight would be selected at random, the only protection against civilians being two FBI agents and Raymond, all of whom were without weapons so as not to ‘arouse suspicion’. Raymond had staunchly objected to the plan; Andersonn had ignored him. All they could do was their jobs. Agent one had already boarded the plane as if he were a normal passenger, his iron grip on Payne the only thing indicating otherwise. All they could hope for was that none of the civilians would recognise one of the most notorious crime lords of the century. 

“Flight 163-7457 has now left the terminal. All officers should…”

The crackly radio tapered off; the end of the sentence replaced with static interspersed with random disjointed syllables. They thought nothing of it: they knew what they had to do. The concrete seemed to vibrate underneath them, the bullet-shaped ghost emerging on the horizon the only thing visible for miles. They did not have much time. Slamming down the acceleration, the car careered across the airfield, the wind howling through the windows smacking their faces giving them their first respite from the blistering heat in hours. Raymond’s vision blurred as they surged forwards in a mess of metal and burning rubber. The engine roared louder as the car went faster, faster, faster. They could almost feel the axel turning under them. Then, as soon as they had started, Raymond yanked up the parking brake sending the car into an abrupt spin, tyres screeching in protest, a trail of rubber forming a figure of eight. Before they could come to a complete stop the pair of them threw themselves out of the doors and sprinted to the ladder being lowered from the slow-moving plane. Their bodies had grown accustomed to sitting; now, one foot after the other, they were scrambling up the ladder like their lives depended upon it, muscles fighting them every step of the way. After what felt like an eternity Raymond reached the top and hoisted himself onto the rubber bathroom floor, rolling over as he yanked his foot out of the trapdoor. Andersonn pulled himself up with far more grace than had been afforded to Raymond and shut the trapdoor. 

Step one complete. 

Raymond sat on the sticky rubber floor, panting. He noticed his sleeve had dragged through a substance that he hoped was water. He attempted to push himself up the wall and blindly reached towards the towel, causing his sweaty shirt to make contact with his back and send chills up his spine. He was in a state of delirium as he blindly stumbled on all fours towards the door. Andersonn shared none of his fatigue. He stood up and strolled towards the exit as though he were leaving a business meeting and not something that looked like a scene from an action movie. Without a word, he left the toilet and let the door slam behind him, presumably leaving Raymond to fend for himself. It was rather like being left for dead and reminded him that he needed to get his bearings, fast. Fortunately, the plane announcements cut through Raymond’s delirium with its usual clinical efficiency. 

“Hello, and welcome to Atlantic Airways. Refreshments are available on this flight. Please be aware of the life jackets under your seat.”

The announcements went on in a similar vein, Raymond tuning out most of it. He had never been on a plane before; consequently, the sensation of fluid filling up his ears was new to him and served as a rather unfortunate distraction from both his surroundings and his mission. With a sense of desperation, he summoned every last iota of strength in his body to pull himself together and stand up. Once he had done so he found himself thinking a lot more clearly, as though a fog had cleared in his brain. He looked down at his radio which had so far been silent since he had boarded the plane. That was weird. Agent one had said that he would tell them where they were sitting. He could only hope that it would become clear when he left. However, Raymond was not one to take chances and put the radio to his lips.

“This is Detective Holt, calling Agent One and Agent Andersonn.” A simple broadcast, one that would hopefully not pique the interest of civilians, but that would be instantly understood by his peers. A minute passed. No response.

“Detective Holt to Agents One and Andersonn?” This time, his broadcast was more tentative, as though he were asking a question. Still no response.

He was starting to get worried now. It was very unlike Andersonn to forget anything, his attention to detail being one of his most prominent traits. He began to formulate a plan. In the academy, they were taught that seeing someone twice could be suspicious, but seeing them three times called for actions. He decided to apply the same rules to radio calls and put out a third and final broadcast.

It garnered no response.

One of the first things taught to them in the academy was that is something did not feel right, it probably wasn’t. Raymond felt a heavy weight drop into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he was sure he was about to find out. Steeling himself for whatever he was about to see, Raymond pushed open the door.

There were two men there. Agent Andersonn, and in his arms, Agent One.

Dead.

* * *

Raymond stood there in shock. He could not believe what he was seeing, he refused to. Agent One was limp in his arms, with a face that would be permanently contorted into an expression of shock. Blood was starting to soak through his shirt, the red circle around his heart expanding with every passing second. Blood was also dripping onto the floor from two gashes on his wrist, and the razor clutched in Andersonn’s hand provided little doubt as to how this had occurred. The blood on the knife at his throat was dry.

“Agent One, are you- “

Before Raymond had time to finish his sentence, Andersonn lunged at him, razor in hand. Raymond threw himself out of the way as Agent One’s body fell to the ground with a dismal thump, causing the other man to trip over it in his haste to get to Raymond. Adrenaline coursed through Raymond’s veins and heightened his already disoriented state. Blind rage overcame him as he blindly threw a punch at Andersonn, which the other man dodged effortlessly. He was showing no remorse for his actions, no sadness at killing one of his own. He did not even seem happy: in fact, the only expression on his face was one of mild satisfaction. He seemed calm as he slashed forwards with the blade, angled towards the face. 

He was aiming to kill. 

Raymond knew he should run but he didn’t know where; the plane was not big enough to hide and he didn’t want to upset the civilians, but his feet were carrying him out of the holding area and into economy class and into the cockpit –

Albert Payne was stood there, gun in hand, smoke still furling off the edge, a body beside him. He had a gun aimed at the pilot’s head and was speaking in a low whisper.

“So tell me, who’s in charge?”

“I am.”

Payne pressed the gun into the pilot’s hair.

“Tell me again: who’s in charge?”

“I- don’t know- “

Payne pulled the trigger. 

“I am.”

The pilot didn’t even have time to scream.

* * *

Payne looked up, instantly noticing Raymond. He didn’t say a word before pulling the trigger, but Raymond was one step ahead of him and the bullet lodged in the door he had perched himself behind. This didn’t stop Payne from peppering the door with bullets. Civilians were screaming almost loud enough to drown out the volley of bangs coming from Payne’s gun. Two flight attendants were cowering behind a trolley, fear etched into the non-existent lines of their faces. With a crash, Andersonn emerged from the toilet with Agent One’s blood coating his hands- and his knife. 

Raymond knew he had two choices. There was an emergency escape to his left: he could somehow put on a parachute and jump into the abyss, escaping with his life but leaving a hundred innocent people at the mercy of two psychopaths: alternatively, he could somehow fight Andersonn and Payne to give the civilians time to escape but, more than likely, would result in his death. An honourable death, but still a death. His mother would appreciate the medal. Both options were terrible to think about, but simple statistics showed which resulted in a single murder and which would cause the worst massacre in US history.

It was time to serve and protect.

Throwing himself at the nearest row of seats, Raymond withdrew a lifejacket from under one of them and raised it above his head. Some small part of his brain registered that the gunshot had stopped meaning that Payne had hopefully run out of bullets. Raymond was not normally one to rely on hope, but in this case, it was all he had. He charged towards the man who had just stepped out of the cockpit door, bringing the thick rubber of the lifejacket down on his head. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Payne stopped for a single traitorous second, which was enough time for Raymond to deliver a single devastating throat punch. Payne gave the slightest cry of pain and began to fall back but Raymond was already focused on Andersonn, who was now advancing on him, knife raised. With a sense of reckless abandon which only came with accepting one’s death Raymond charged forwards, feeble excuse for a weapon raised. Then, like a bull drawn to a red cloth, Raymond charged and pinned Andersonn to the ground. He was the larger of the two men and he took advantage of that, smashing the lifejacket repeatedly to his head. Andersonn grabbed his tie and pulled Raymond closer, grasping at his neck. One well-placed kick made Andersonn howl, searing pain consuming his entire body and giving Raymond just enough time to relinquish his grip on his knife. He wanted to plunge the knife into Andersonn’s chest but instead satisfied himself with standing up and stamping onto his windpipe, rendering him unconscious- for now. 

Unfortunately, the threat was far from over. Payne had recovered and taken control of the plane. To Raymond’s horror, the glamorous flight attendants that appeared to have cowered in fear earlier were now stewarding passengers into the cockpit, with all who protested finding themselves looking down the barrel of a revolver. Payne had forced his way out of the cockpit and was physically forcing passengers in. Raymond felt as though he should be doing something but he also knew that he was outmanned and outgunned, and all he could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolded and pray that they did not get bored and start shooting civilians. 

“Anything to say, pig?” one of the flight attendants taunted. Her sneer was rather undercut by a large amount of botox rendering it impossible for her to move her face. This moment of levity brought Raymond to his senses just enough to notice a stir behind him. Andersonn had woken up and was now stumbling down the aisle like a zombie. Raymond whipped around and made to react but before he could do anything, Payne snatched a handgun from one of the flight attendants and emptied it into Andersonn’s chest. He then turned it to point directly at Raymond and began to talk with a heavy accent Raymond couldn’t quite place.

“Look, I don’t want to kill you.”

“You just killed an FBI agent, why would you care about me?”

“He knew too much, could have told anyone. You, on the other hand, know _jack shit_.”

Raymond did not like being told he was bad at his job. “I don’t know nothing; I know that you are trying to kill people and take over the plane!”

“Well done on your detective work. It’s almost like that’s your job or something.”

Payne should have been threatening, especially given the fact that he was a seasoned killer, but that particular phrase sounded so much like something that Madeline would idly taunt him with that he found his fear dissolving. A sense of – probably misguided – calm overcame him. 

“Albert Payne, I am going to have to ask you to put down that gun and let the passengers go.”

“Wow, I wasn’t going to do it before but now that you’ve _asked me nicely…_ ” Sarcasm dripped off his every syllable. He sounded so much like Madeline that it made his heart ache. 

“You are not invincible Albert. You cannot kill every single one of the passengers, and even if you do, what will you do with the bodies?” Raymond knew that this was precisely the wrong thing to say to comfort civilians, but he thought that the mention of gratuitous violence might appeal to Albert. And by the looks of it, he was right. Raymond continued. 

“They would be far more valuable as hostages.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it would keep them alive. Albert seemed to be considering. 

“Yeah- I know.” he said in the tone of exasperation Madeline used when she knew she had been outsmarted but was too proud to admit it. It felt very insensitive to compare his closest friend to a mass murderer, yet it was strangely fitting. 

“You know what… I’m willing to make a deal. If you let me drive this plane, I’ll drop everyone in New York and then fuck off.” 

Raymond thought about it. They both knew that this flight was being closely monitored, meaning he likely would have to land at some point. Raymond also knew that he wouldn’t want the extra weight of a hundred or so people if he could help it, meaning there was no reason not to let them off. The only thing not accounted for was him. In a split second, he formulated a plan.

“You have yourself a deal, given that I can sit in the cockpit and make sure you are indeed going back to New York.”

“Sure thing, prettyboy.” He gave a hand signal making one of the flight attendants opened the door, releasing the tide of passengers. At first, they were reluctant to come out, but as soon as Payne withdrew his gun they were all too eager to do whatever he said and resume their original seats. 

“I will take the role of co-pilot.”

Raymond had no idea what the role of co-pilot entailed, and the numerous dials and buttons in front of him were not helping matters. All he could do was pray that Payne would make good on his promise to fly back to New York. 

The hours went by slowly, stretched out by paralysing fear. The passengers were made to sit in complete silence. At one point a baby started crying; this triggered Payne to come out the cockpit and empty his gun into a window, sucking out the glass panel and making even more noise, which made the baby cry even harder, making Payne take the remaining gun and fire even more shots, making the baby cry more- it was an endless cycle, only stopped by the mother shoving a scarf into the baby’s mouth. But finally, the familiar New York skyline came into view. It was the first thing that had gone right the entire flight. 

Payne pulled the microphone to his lips. “We are now approaching New York. If anyone asks you what happened on this flight you are to say that it was normal. If you dare say otherwise... well then,” Payne gave a sickly-sweet laugh. “I. Will. Kill. You.”

Payne was true to his word, and touched down at JFK airport, just as the tickets had promised. The door opened and the passengers sprinted out, most not bothering to collect their hand luggage. One of the flight attendants took care of that, sweeping bags into her arms and hurling them out of the door. The other one went out with the passengers, and by the sound of it was removing suitcases. It only took a matter of minutes, the process quickened by a complete lack of regard of both safety and property. Before Raymond knew it she was back on board and the engine was turned on and, in a move that he was sure violated piloting laws in at least some way, the plane swung around and took off. 

As soon as they were above cloud level Payne began to speak.

“You might be wondering what I’m gonna do with you.”

Raymond remained silent.

“Is there anyone special in your life? Anyone who gives a fuck if you die?”

Raymond recalled the captain’s words from when he was first given this mission. He did not have anyone special in his life. His mother and sister, he supposed. They were not particularly close, but they would at least be upset if he died. His ex-boyfriends would probably find out somehow. The only other person he could think of who could be considered close to him was Madeline. 

“Yeah,” said Raymond, “a few people.”

“Your mum, your sister, and your girlfriend.”

That was a fairly accurate assessment. Presumably, Payne had studied who would be guarding him.

“Well, first, I’m gonna murder you. Then I’ll cut your body up into little pieces. Your girlfriend will get your dick, she has needs after all!” Payne laughed a hideous laugh. “I’ll throw the rest of it out the window, all over the Pacific.”

Threatening to send his non-existent girlfriend his penis was one thing, but sloppy geography was another. 

“We are flying over the Atlantic.”

“Not where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll never find out.”

Payne snapped his fingers. One of the flight attendants entered the room and stood next to the chair he was currently pulling himself out of. She moved over and tipped Raymond out of the co-pilot seat, only to be replaced by the other flight attendant. Payne dragged Raymond out of the room by his bloodstained collar. Vaguely, he heard the two women 

“How do you feel- “

Payne never got to finish his sentence. Raymond leapt at him, one hand on his collar and the other on the back of his shirt. He threw the other man into a chair, face smashing into the head. Payne blindly reached back and grabbed the front of Raymond’s shirt, sending buttons flying. Raymond found himself flying onto the seats, spread eagle across the row. He regained his footing quickly and advanced on Payne, who by now had obtained a gun. Raymond ran forwards and found the cold metal pressing against his now bare chest. 

“One more smart move and I shoot- “

“The gun is empty. You can’t pull that shit on me.”

For the first time, Payne’s maniacal voice seemed to have a touch of fear. “What makes you think that?”

Raymond took the advantage and sent a clean punch flying at Payne’s face. It met its mark and smashed into the side of his nose, giving a sickening crunch. Blood began to pour down his face as Raymond slotted a hand into the back of his hair and forced him to bend over onto the seat, winding him on the armrest. 

“You used your first gun on the door. “

Raymond forced his head into the seat.

“The second gun on the window. “

He wrenched the gun out of Payne’s hand.

“And the third gun – “

He pulled the trigger. A single bullet hit the carpet beneath them.

“-On the floor. Albert Payne, you are under arrest.”

He removed his tie, unravelled it to its full length, and then tied Payne’s hands, slipping the knot over the armrest for good measure. It was moments like this when he was thankful of his extensive knowledge of haberdashery. That being said, he was still going to handcuff Payne to the chair when he had the chance. He went into the cockpit to retrieve the handcuffs that most planes had only to find the two flight attendants still flying the plane. He withdrew the gun from his waistband. It might be empty but they didn’t know that- and he still had his knife just in case. He braced himself for an attack.

“I am going to need you to fly back to New York- “

“On it.” And just like that, the plane began to turn. He had been expecting more resistance, an objection at least.

“How do I know that you are actually going back to New York?”

“There isn’t enough fuel to go anywhere else.”

“Yeah, we had like, an hour of circling JFK at most.” 

“We work for Payne, but we don’t _really_ work for Payne, he was planning to ditch us and let the plane crash- “

“So, we learned to fly it.”

“People underestimate us because we’re pretty women.”

Raymond paused for a second, letting these shocking revelations sink in. He also knew a woman who constantly got underestimated, and who would go to equally extreme lengths. He just had one more question.

“But if he is such a misogynist, which I am sure he is, how did you get into business with Payne in the first place?”

The girls paused for a second before the one on the right answered. 

“Pure fucking desperation.”

If she was saying what Raymond thought she was saying, he understood. 

“What is our ETA?”

* * *

“Detective, nice job on the Payne train! Or should I say, the Payne Plane!“

“Thank you, captain. I am almost done with the paperwork. No doubt the media has already started talking about it.”

The captain talked over him. “It was on the news, that shit was insane! They’res a Medal of Valour in there for sure. Speaking of the media, someone on the phone wants you; something about a movie?” 

“That sounds interesting. Pass them over.”

**Author's Note:**

> In episode 7x12, Holt says that one of his cases got adapted into a 90s action movie.


End file.
